The Dishwasher Wars

In the quiet of our kitchen, where true battles rage,

Lies the war of the dishwasher—our domestic stage.

You claim precision, a master so wise,

While I just toss things in—efficiency prize!

_ _ _

"You stack like a gremlin!" you huff and complain,

"Plates facing sideways? Have you gone insane?"

But I see no issue, the water will spray—

It’s called a machine, love, let it do its own way!

_ _ _

The forks and the spoons, my chaotic brigade,

March in rebellion at rules you have made.

"You rinse them too much!" I counter with flair,

"What’s the point of a wash if no dirt’s even there?"

_ _ _

But oh, my dear foe, through the bubbles and grime,

I cherish these battles, I savor the time.

For what is true love, if not playful war,

Where dishes get cleaned—and hearts love even more?

_ _ _

So let us keep fighting, through soap and through spray,

For the best kind of love loads in its own way.